


Neither Have I

by Catchclaw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Bathtubs, Domestic, First Kiss, Flowers, M/M, Pre-Slash, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s sure that Cas is cold all the time now, without the furnace of his Grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Have I

When Cas comes in from the garden, the wind, the cold, he’s exhausted, shivering inside his sweater his gloves and he’s never said it, never once complained, but Dean’s sure he’s cold all the time now, without the furnace of his Grace.

So when he bursts in, February on his heels, Dean’s there to meet him.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Cas towards the stairs. “Up here. Come on.”

And he knows Cas is tired, then, because he doesn’t fight. Doesn’t ask _why_ or _for what purpose are we going_ or any of the usual shit that’s constantly falling out his mouth these days.

If he’s gonna be human, damn it, then Cas is fucking determined to understand every breath, every beat, every why.

But now, he just goes, follows the lead of Dean’s hands on his shoulders and climbs. One stair at a time.

In the bathroom, he lets Dean undress him, unwind him from wool and down and cotton, his eyes closed, his body drifting between Dean’s fingers without a sound.

Dean does his best not to look, exactly. Fixes his eyes on the crack in the bathroom mirror and doesn’t stare.

Cas is weirdly nonchalant about nudity. His own, anyway. It’s like he’s not clear on the whole “this vessel is you” thing somedays, much less on the effects said vessel may have on Dean.

It took Dean two weeks to convince him that pants were pretty much required during waking hours, no matter how nice it was outside, how warm.

“I don’t care how good the sun feel on your skin,” Dean’d barked, finally. “You gotta cover up, Cas.”

“Why?” Cas had said, innocent as fuck even in boxer briefs.

“Because!” Dean’d huffed. “That’s how it’s done. That’s what humans do, Cas. They put clothes on in the middle of the goddamn day!”

He’d felt Cas’ wide blue zero in on his face.

“Oh,” Cas’d said. “Yes. I see.”

But of course he hadn’t and Dean knew it, fuck, knew Cas was just humoring him, doing what he could to get along, and if it took another week to convince him that zipping up was a pretty key part of pants-wearing, well.

At least Dean’d stopped getting cricks in his neck from his Herculean efforts to lock his eyes on Cas’ face, damn it, his eyes were enough anyway, weren’t they? No need to look at his crotch, at the pale turn of his knees, at his hips as they slid just above the waistband of his—

But now, here Dean is, peeling layer after layer away from Cas’ skin.

For Cas. Right. For Cas.

When he's naked, Dean leads him careful to the tub, this ancient clawfoot thing. Holds his hand and says:

“Ok, Cas. Ok. Just get in.”

He eases Cas over and down and the sound Cas makes as he sinks into that hot hot water is—

Well. Dean’s grateful for his own goddamn pants.

He reaches over, grabs the box from under the sink. Throws the last of the flowers in to join their brethren. Watches rose petals land on Cas’ knee, a rogue daisy sail up by his ear.

Cas opens his eyes, little slits of his soul sneaking out amidst the steam.

He says nothing. Just looks and smiles and Dean’s heart goes a little crazy and he knows he’s grinning back like a fool.

He drops the box and climbs up on his knees. Leans his body into the tub, awkward as fuck, sure, but god it feels good. To be close to Cas, like this.

He strings his fingers through the water, lets the flowers float by. Lets his hand get too close to Cas’ skin, and he’s so focused on that, how near he could fall without touching, that he misses the movement, the quick shift of Cas’ arm under the water, until those long, warm fingers find his own.

“I love you,” Cas sighs. Like it’s nothing. Normal. Everyday.

In his head, Dean says, cocky: “I know.”

In his head, he says, sure: “Of course you do. I’m awesome.”

But out loud he says, startled: “Yeah, Cas. Yeah. I love you, too.”

Cas tugs their hands to his mouth and kisses Dean’s knuckles, soft. One by one.

Outside, it’s cold as shit and the wind won’t stop for hours but inside, between them, god. Dean’s never been warmer.

“Neither have I,” Cas whispers, wet hands in Dean’s collar. “Dean. Neither have I.”


End file.
